


Just Relax

by seashadows



Category: Social Network (2010)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, LiveJournal Prompt, M/M, Originally Posted on LiveJournal, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-05
Updated: 2013-05-05
Packaged: 2017-12-10 11:53:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/785773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seashadows/pseuds/seashadows
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mark has a breakdown during a coding session, and Eduardo helps him feel better.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just Relax

It’s kind of douchey, Eduardo later realizes, that he doesn’t notice Mark’s slump – well, to be fair, his usual position is a slump, so this is just an extension of the norm – in front of the computer screen when he walks into the room he shares with Dustin and Chris (who are, as usual on a Friday night, gone). The door’s open when he arrives. “Hey,” he says, and plunks himself down on Mark’s bed, for lack of a better place to sit. “Coding again?”   
  
There’s no reply, not even a grunted _hi_ , which is unusual even when Mark’s wired in. “ _Hey_ ,” Eduardo repeats. “Are you okay?” Could be a cold; he knows there’s one going around campus, but Mark’s natural introversion, made even more so by his self-imposed hermit-ness, precludes that possibility. Barring that, maybe there’s something his friend picked up and was never vaccinated for (the possibility of which his mother brings up whenever she visits, seeing Mark’s pallor and half-open eyelids as evidence of mono or meningitis), in which case Eduardo _really_ needs to drag him out before he dies and fossilizes. He stands up and walks the few steps over to Mark, laying a hand on his shoulder.   
  
He knows Mark’s heard him, which is sort of a relief; the thin shoulder stiffens under his hand and a sniffle emanates from beneath it. Concern very quickly replaces relief. “What’s wrong?” Eduardo kneels down next to the computer chair, the better to see his face – but no luck, as Mark has his head buried in the crook of his elbow. “C’mon, Mark, talk to me,” he says sharply, touching Mark on the arm. “I need to know if you’re sick, all right? You’re not yourself right now.”   
  
“Leave me _alone_ , Eduardo.” Mark’s voice, even muffled in the thick cloth of his sweatshirt, is shaky. The fact that he’s not using Eduardo’s nickname is another clue that something is definitely off. Is he… _crying?_ Curious and more than a little worried, Eduardo works his fingers into the hairline gap between sweatshirt and face and gently pulls Mark’s arm away. His sleeve is damp, but so is his face; tears are leaking down his cheeks from red-rimmed eyes. “I said,” he says between clenched teeth, “ _fuck. Off._ ”   
  
“Well, tough, because I’m not going to,” Eduardo answers, harsher than he intended – he shakes his head and tries again. “Mark. Dude. You’re _crying_ , and you want me to just leave? Not going to happen.” Mark makes some kind of low groaning noise and goes to put his face back, but Eduardo manages to catch his chin in his hand before he can hide again. “Tell me what’s wrong.”   
  
“ _Nothing._ ” Mark’s teeth are still clenched, as though both in defiance and shame. “Life. I don’t normally get unwound b-because of a lack of sleep –“ that slight stutter is the only thing, besides his tears, to belie his normal mile-a-minute persona – “but this is just – I don’t know. The code is growing _exponentially_ and I just…don’t…know where to go next.”

“I know where you can go first,” Eduardo says, apropos of absolutely nothing and _jesus_ , this is cheesy (he’s watched enough late-night Lifetime movies when macroecon kept him awake to know), but it’s what he knows will help. “Right here.” He gets up from his crouch and folds Mark into his arms – it’s awkward, with the chair between them and Mark stiffer than rigor mortis, but he manages. Mark’s face is pressed against his shoulder and suddenly he’s limp and heavy against him, a sob tearing out of his mouth to filter into Eduardo’s shirt. It’s simultaneously endearing and a little scary.   
  
The part of Eduardo’s brain that’s still functioning (read: not in shock) knows that they’re both going to be sore in inconvenient places if he doesn’t get the chair out of the way, so he takes Mark by the shoulders and maneuvers them both onto the floor. He leans against the desk, Mark in a strange position – half on his lap and half leaning against his torso – and rubs his hands up and down his friend’s now-shaking back. “Hey, hey.” His voice is gentle, Mark’s hair tickling his cheek as he whispers to him. “Everything’s going to be fine.”   
  
Mark shakes his head against Eduardo’s collarbone, drawing in a deep, sniffling gasp. Eduardo’s shirt is already wet where tears have soaked the fabric, but he ignores the discomfort and strokes a hand through Mark’s hair. “Shh,” he says softly. “Just relax.” The weight in his arms is weirdly comforting, as though he’s reassuring both his friend and himself. “Relax. You’ll be okay.” He doesn’t know how long they sit there, but Mark cries a while longer before his breathing evens out. Even then, Eduardo doesn’t stop rubbing his back, or kissing his forehead whenever he looks up with forlorn blue eyes, or whispering things to him in two languages.   
  
He dabs Mark’s eyes with his sleeve when the tears stop and pulls him in a little closer, a nonverbal reminder that neither of them are going anywhere for the rest of the night. Coding can wait. Even the Winklevi can wait. Comfort can’t.


End file.
